


Shattered Porcelain

by xxwrote_my_way_outxx



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Bondage, Degradation, Dom/sub Undertones, Facial, Gay, Hate Sex, He has some sex?, He is charming?, Humilation, It's A Complicated Russian Romance, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Overstiumlation, Plot What Plot, Sex, Smut, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 13:46:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11807193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxwrote_my_way_outxx/pseuds/xxwrote_my_way_outxx
Summary: “Any letters!?” He shouted this time and watched him flinch back against the table, and guilt started to slowly pour into his conscious, the paperweight shaking in his hand, threatening to be dropped on the young blonde at any moment, leaving him scared and vulnerable. Pierre slowly put it back on the table and felt a lump growing in his throat as he noticing how violently Anatole was quivering, looking disheveled and broken. Porcelain wasn’t meant to crack, but Pierre wanted to break it, no matter how expensive it was…he wanted to make a beautiful mess.





	Shattered Porcelain

He had him by the collar, large hands seized around his throat mercilessly as he slammed him down onto the desk in his study, shaking him back and forth several times until the blonde’s face betrayed fear and anxiety. His blue eyes had tears pricking them and his lips quivered like those of a child- because in actuality, that was how Anatole acted. It was known he was immature, he was an airhead, he didn’t think much when he flounced around and made himself happy, even at the extent of other people’s happiness, because he just didn’t know any better. It was hard not to know any better when you were never taught how to behave.   
And Pierre planned to show him obedience. 

“Come now this is stupid..” Anatole insisted with uncertainty in his words, his eyes trailing over to where Pierre was reaching for something, “W-what?” The boy struggled and squirmed, trying to swat at Pierre, looking even more desperate to get away, prey trying to escape its captor, “Don’t, don’t!” He sobbed softly, his fear finally betraying him as Pierre grabbed onto the paperweight. 

“You are a scoundrel, and a blackguard..” Pierre sneered as he drew the paperweight over above his head. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to hurt the man, but all he knew was that he could see red and smell the fear that he caused. Something so primal. If Anatole had listened, if Anatole would have considered others, if Anatole hadn’t hurt a little girl…No. If Anatole hadn’t hurt him. If Anatole hadn’t hurt him, he wouldn’t be so livid.  
“Did you promise to marry her?” 

Anatole could tell by the way that the man seethed that he was hurt, though the blonde was too terrified to care much about how Pierre felt. That was always how Anatole was. His needs and emotional security always came before anyone else’s, and even if he tried to think straight right now for Pierre, he couldn’t remember what happened. Who was Natasha? The way that Pierre’s eyes burned a hole in his body made him forget anything that happened over the past three days. The only memories that filled his head were of Pierre..Pierre.. Pierre and himself. 

“I didn’t think of it, I never promised be-“ 

“Do you have any letters of hers?” 

Anatole just stared at him, frightened and dumbfounded. 

“Any letters!?” He shouted this time and watched him flinch back against the table, and guilt started to slowly pour into his conscious, the paperweight shaking in his hand, threatening to be dropped on the young blonde at any moment, leaving him scared and vulnerable. Pierre slowly put it back on the table and felt a lump growing in his throat as he noticing how violently Anatole was quivering, looking disheveled and broken. Porcelain wasn’t meant to crack, but Pierre wanted to break it, no matter how expensive it was…he wanted to make a beautiful mess. 

“I shan’t be violent...” He whispered softly as he removed his hands from the others throat and crowded him against the table and spread his legs, pinning him against the mahogany wood that made up his desk. He could see the way that Anatole’s adam’s apple bobbed in his neck as he swallowed down thickly, and the way that he surrendered to him instantly made his desires grow. He claimed the boy’s lips in a way he knew would bruise him beautifully and leaned against him, boxing him in beneath his larger, stronger body. 

The plethora of moans that he received was much better than listening to the brat argue over the semantics of the situation.  
Pierre thought enough already about every alternative to how he could handle the situation, and this was the only one that would effectively make Anatole shut his mouth for once in his pampered life and have possibly scared him enough to not try to trick people for his own gain again. The fear that he put in him was revenge. Revenge for the way that Anatole toyed with him, the way his wife toyed with him, the way Anatole treated him like an object before he even met Helene, and then used him as a personal bank. 

Pierre bit the other’s lip when Anatole tried to rock his hips up against his, pushing him back down against the table, not letting him have the friction that he craved. The bearded man drew his lips away from the others, finding satisfaction when he noticed the purple tint that he had left there and the way his bottom lip swelled slightly, thinking that it looked absolutely stunning on his pale skin. His teeth carved a path of violet and blue bruises down the slope of his alabaster neck, splattering color on the usually perfect skin. Anatole didn’t deserve to be clean and perfect, so Pierre easily fixed that. 

The Bezukhov neatly threw Anatole on the ground when he pulled away and sat in his own armchair. He guided the blonde over with his foot, guiding him to his groin, though it seemed as if the blonde didn’t need to be guided because he was already crawling there on his bound to be scuffed up knees. Anatole glanced up at him with those soft, sky blue eyes that Pierre almost forgot his disgust in him. 

“Cute.” He snorted before he laced his fingers in the other’s hair and dragged him down closer so that he would get to work, not caring that he may have tugged the yellow locks a bit too hard. Anatole’s trembling fingers undid the other’s pants and slid them down, making hasty work of his underclothes as if trying to remember how to do so. It was clear that Anatole was lost in a state of confusion, fear, and lust, and his brain could hardly process it. The blonde didn’t think much anyways, so he didn’t need to now. Pierre decided that this was better for Anatole. A job where he didn’t have to use his brain, since it seemed to be the only thing he was good at. 

“Suck.” 

Anatole offered his pouting lips up to Pierre in confusion for just a mere second before Pierre forced the pretty folds against the tip of his cock, and Anatole willingly obliged as if it were something that he was made to do. Pierre at least convinced himself of that as he forced the hot, wet hole on himself , forcing the blonde’s head down each time , adoring the feeling of his working tongue and the way that the young blonde massaged the inside of his thighs. He wondered how many times Dolokhov had forced him down just like this… he could understand why the burly man stuck around the ditz when he had such a warm mouth like this. He had certainly gotten better since the last time they slept together several years ago…and Pierre was happy to let himself indulge in the sweet treat. Each time he thought that Anatole would gag, he wouldn’t, and it simply convinced Pierre more of how disgusting of a person Anatole was. He was a whore, just like his sister. If Pierre had been in the right mind, he would have convinced himself that Anatole’s sexual relations with others meant nothing and the fact that they had been together once doesn’t matter, but Pierre didn’t care. He was trying to be like Anatole for once.   
“Hm, you are such a good boy when you can’t talk, Kuragin.” He hummed in a bemused, taunting fashion as he ripped the other’s tight mouth off of him and he stared at his puffy lips again and the way that the blonde had a bit of drool on the crevices of his lips, “And even prettier when you’re broken.” 

Anatole simply stared at him with glazed, lustful eyes that looked thoughtless as usual…obedient. Pierre was satisfied. 

Pierre dragged him by his pretty blonde hair up from the ground and guided him back over to the desk and promptly bent him over it, causing the ditz to whine softly, squirming slightly. Pierre slid his belt off from around his pants which started to pool to the ground and took Anatole’s hands and tugged his arms behind his back and put his wrists through the loop and tightened it, causing Anatole to struggle for a few moments before he gave in with a few hefty breaths.   
Pierre tugged down Anatole’s pants shamelessly and threw them somewhere where he was sure he’d forget and hummed in delight at the sight of Anatole’s bare ass. He had to admit, Anatole had always been the best sex he had ever had and he was sure that would stay a true fact if not an enforced one. He took his hand and simply smacked on of the cheeks harshly, snickering as Anatole let out a soft noise. 

“Did you like that?” He asked in a teasing voice before he took his hand and slapped the other, leaving identical reddened marks, causing Anatole’s breath to hitched. 

“Stop teasing, old man..” 

Pierre scowled and slapped him again, causing the other to moan once more, “What did you call me?” He questioned in an authoritative tone, “Do you want to change what you said?”   
Anatole gulped slickly and he murmured in a timid voice, “Nothing, sir. I promise I won’t say anything unless you want me to, sir.” He breathed.

“Good boy.” Pierre laughed. He really didn’t know what had gotten into him, but he couldn’t deny himself of this pleasure. It was nice being like Anatole for once, getting what he wanted.   
He lined his cock up with the other’s tight entrance, though he heard Anatole whine, just like he expected him to. “Hm, what was that?” 

“Oil?” He panted in a soft voice, “Fingers?” He pursed his lips. 

“Oh, little boy, if you want me to treat you nicely you’re going to have to beg. I don’t give out my forgiveness as easy as you or your sister give yourselves away.” He sneered in a cruel way, unlike him. He couldn’t help the anger that boiled beneath his skin. It was hard to let go of such grievances when he allowed them to boil over like this. 

“Please, Pierre..” Anatole groaned softly, “I want you inside me..I miss your cock..” He felt Pierre grab onto his hair again in expectance, “No one fucks me better than you, never has..” He breathed, trying to think though finding it impossible when he had fingers tugging on his hair so nicely. “Better than my dear Fedya..” He felt Pierre tug again harshly, “Dolokhov.” He rolled his hips weakly, feeling the tip of Pierre’s cock still pressing against his hole. When Pierre obliged by pressing the tip of his finger inside of him, he noticed something: he was already stretched. 

“Hm…it seems that you don’t ‘need’ my help, because it seems like somebody had already given you that today.” That statement was followed by another swift slap to his ass, one that hurt more than the others that he had been delivered.   
Anatole scowled at the mention of it and tried to think back onto what had happened earlier that da- Oh. 

Dolokhov and him definitely had sex in Dolokhov’s study earlier that day…it was a very similar situation to this, though it was safe to say that Dolokhov was definitely more forgiving in the fact that he didn’t try to kill him.   
Before he could even apologize or think about the situation even further, Pierre plunged into him and Anatole felt as if he were split in half and he couldn’t even make out a sentence. 

There was nothing better to Pierre than Anatole being a guilty, crying mess and the ability to fuck him into the table. Anatole talked to much as usual, and he needed to be shut up. 

“This just proves that all of you Kuragins are all the same..” He chuckled lowly, though mostly loathed himself for it though was surprised when Anatole moaned at the implication. It was so easy to project onto Anatole the misdeeds of his wife, and it was nice because Anatole couldn’t and wouldn’t deny it so long as he got what he wanted, so long as it was money, affection, or housing of sorts. And of course Pierre was going to give Anatole money. To leave. After this, he never wanted to see the pitiful excuse of a man again. He already caused enough trouble in his life, him and his sister. And if stayed around any longer, Pierre would become trapped in the needs of another one of the Kuragin pests and the cycle would never end. Though, he’d miss the sex.   
He gripped onto the blonde’s hips and slammed into him relentlessly, listening to Anatole’s small moans and mewls, listening to how much he enjoyed this despite how sad he was acting before. Anatole whined about everything and anything, even if he would enjoy the outcome. He dug his fingers into his hips to leave darker bruises come morning. He leaned over and he bit into Anatole’s shoulder, hearing him cry wantonly. The fact that he was marking this man, a man he hated so much, and was making him mewl for him was the most satisfying feeling. To use something that used him..it was perfect. 

“Please, please…” Anatole whined. It was obvious that he wasn’t sure what he was asking for and Pierre bit him harder. On nay other day he would have left soft hickies, but today he had no sympathy. He deserved no sympathy. 

“Please, what?” 

“I want to come, please, let me, please..” He slurred as he moaned and shuddered, “You make me feel so good, sir…please, sir..” 

“You’ll come when I tell you that you can, and you haven’t earned that, Kuragin.” He emphasized each word with another thrust, listening to the way that Anatole’s voice hitched each time he was slammed into. When he finally managed to hit Anatole’s prostate he swore the noise that Anatole made was so needy and desperate, and so delicious to drink in. It was animalistic and submissive at the same time, and he watched as the other sobbed beneath him in ecstasy as he continued to fuck into him like some useless whore. 

“You’re such a good slut for me, little one.” He hissed softly, but it almost sounded affection. Almost. Except nothing in Pierre’s shut off, cold heart could love something as vile as Anatole. And the vile thing moaned each time Pierre degraded him.   
“Only for you sir..” He breathed and felt Pierre squeeze his hips again. 

“How loose you were says differently…unless you can prove you only are for me, little one.” He challenged in a teasing, humiliating voice. 

“Please, sir..” He croaked in a hoarse voice, tears pricking his eyes as Pierre continued to slam into him mercilessly, making it hard for him to speak without moaning, “I’ll only be for you if you’ll let me, please, I beg of you…” He struggled slightly, “Your cock is so good, please sir…I want more, I’ll do anything, please, please..” He kept trailing on an endless line of pleases, starting to forget how to speak as the overstimulation took over his body. Pierre loved that he was breaking him, making him malfunction like a broken utensil.   
“Aww, that was cute, little one…so very cute..” He laughed softly, almost feigning kindness before he reached underneath the other and started to stroke the other’s needy cock and simply said, “Come.”   
And Anatole did, almost on demand as if he were trained like an animal to obey Pierre, and Pierre wanted nothing more. The older man took his now sticky hand and presented it to the animal’s mouth and watched as he obediently licked the digits clean, already knowing what the Bezukhov wanted from him. 

He pulled out from the panting blonde and watched as he started to come down from his orgasm, though didn’t let him get away with that easily. He tugged him back off the table, this time by the belt that kept his arms bonded together, and guided him back over to where they sat before and made him kneel before him, hands moving uncomfortably in the bind.   
“Face up.” Pierre insisted and watched as the ruined blonde tilted his head up willingly to look at him with hazy, thoughtless eyes. “Mouth open.” He hummed as he watched the other’s jaw move to open, revealing his precious pink tongue to him.   
Pierre stroked himself as he watched the wrecked man squirm and shift uncomfortably though still obeyed him. It was a sight like no other, truly. He wondered if Dolokhov ever got him to be this pliant. Part of him hoped that he couldn’t. He hoped that Anatole could never find the same type of satisfaction again. 

And when he came it was on Anatole’s beautiful face that Pierre despised so much, though he had to admit that the more used and worn out Anatole looked the more he liked him. Something so gorgeous being so desecrated was truly a work of art, and that was what Pierre had achieved. 

The old Russian man got up from where he stood and slid his pants back up easily once he came down from the high that his first orgasm in a long time had given him. He yawned lazily and grabbed a rag from one of the drawers in his desk along with his wallet and pulled out a considerable amount of roubles. He threw them carelessly on the floor and then undid the belt around Anatole’s wrists. 

“Get dressed and clean up. That is ten thousand roubles. Get the hell out of my sight and never let me see you ever again.”

And the next day Anatole left for Petersburg.


End file.
